


when i faltered, they would hold me tight

by kismetNemesis



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: F/F, Gen, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kismetNemesis/pseuds/kismetNemesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyouko was beginning to grow on her again. After all, her sins were self-destruction and loving a girl too much; it was like looking into a mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i faltered, they would hold me tight

They had all been her friends, once.

Kyouko was beginning to grow on her again. After all, her sins were self-destruction and loving a girl too much; it was like looking into a mirror. This was what pushed her away, and what brought her back.  
Sometimes Kyouko never came to Mitakihara, and Homura had to kill Oktavia in her stead. It always felt wrong, like going on a date with someone else’s girlfriend. Not that Homura had ever had a girlfriend for more than a month. Cumulatively, she and Madoka were coming up on two years. Homura really hoped their anniversary would fall when they were lovers again, or enemies. She couldn’t stand it if that day was the day when Madoka heard her name for the first time for the thirtieth time for the hundredth time- “that’s a cool name!”-  
Kyouko had been the last one she met, and now she was the last one she could stand.

Sayaka was always Madoka’s Friend, the one who had the privilege of being there during her childhood, of already having her trust, of having Madoka cry over her death. Sayaka filled up with idealism and despair alternately, swelling and popping like a water balloon. When Homura first met her, she had been intimidated, first by her false bravado and then by her ownership of Madoka. Now Homura knew that she was nothing, an empty pod. If she really loved Madoka, she wouldn’t contract for that meaningless boy, she wouldn’t run away from home, she wouldn’t-  
No. What did Homura know about love? Only Madoka knew love. Only Madoka had that infinite kindness within her, and Madoka had pronounced Sayaka an angel time and time again, though time and time again she fell from grace. Homura couldn’t look her bright shining sword of justice, nor could she gaze upon her dark, fracturing heart.  
Sayaka was the tide. Homura refused to let her wash her away.

Mami was the worst, and so maybe it was for the best that she never lasted long. If Sayaka was painted in stripes of dark and light, Mami was a thin layer of light yellow wallpaper peeling off abyssal-black concrete.  
All magical girls were a little suicidal, or so it seemed to Homura. Maybe that was just their tendency to get into sacrificial situations. Mami, though, was consumed by the call of the void- l’appel du vide, she would correct Homura smugly. Mami always did like the stupid European names for things. Mami was her mentor, once upon a time, but Homura was never a good student, in actual school or out. At first, she was aggressively mediocre, then she was just plain aggressive. The high jump, equations, Patricia, Charlotte- it was all steps of a dance Homura had danced before, and she was getting goddamn sick of dress rehearsal.  
Mami never failed to condescend, never quite reaching the point beyond friend and below enemy when she started treating Homura with respect, never gave a single thought to anything besides herself.

As if Homura could talk about being one-track-minded. Even back on that first first day, when pink and gold goddesses had appeared to save Homura from Izabel and from herself, Madoka had drawn her eye immediately. A crush, that was what it had been. A crush on a girl with kind eyes and red hair ribbons who always, always found Homura and always, always wanted to be her friend. 

Madoka.  


Madoka was her soul, and Homura protected her above all else, above the literal soul stuck to the back of her hand. Homura loved everything about her. Her hands, her eyes, her dreaded flouncy skirt, her manners, her stammering, her taste in music, the way she hugged with all her heart. Homura even loved the little pink bow on the top of her grief seed.

There was also a part of her that hated- what Madoka did to her, how Madoka made her feel. Madoka was too brave, too selfless, too strong, getting stronger. Nothing Homura could say would convince her to lay down her bow, to run away, to save herself, to not be noble for once. Homura knows by now that Madoka will never not have something to fight for. Homura hates it when that something is her. She is the one thing she can never erase.

Homura had killed Madoka, as Kyouko kills Sayaka. Homura had idolized her, as Sayaka idolizes Mami. Homura had donned a mask to protect herself, as Mami always does. Homura loves Madoka more than she loves herself, just as Madoka loves Homura, loves Sayaka, loves Kyouko and Mami, loves her family, even loves that cat, the one she first contracted for.

They had all been her friends, once; but she had never found anything to love about herself.


End file.
